


Of All the Gin Joints

by ravenslight



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, James Potter Lives, POV James Potter, Single dad!James, Smut, Zaddy James, adult!Hermione, hook up with feelings, not a one night stand
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-02
Updated: 2020-07-02
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:14:10
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,044
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25025233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenslight/pseuds/ravenslight
Summary: There's only one witch in the world James Potter wants, and she just so happens to walk into Sirius Black's bar.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/James Potter
Comments: 20
Kudos: 195
Collections: LoveDump 2020





	Of All the Gin Joints

**Author's Note:**

  * For [LadyKenz347](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyKenz347/gifts).



> T, I love you a million times over, and I'm so lucky to be able to call you one of my dearest friends. I hope this silly little smutfic brings a bright spot to your day and reminds you just how loved you are. There's only one person on this planet I'll write Jamione smut for, and it's you. You're my person. <3

“Drink up, Prongs. The night is young, but you are not.” 

A sweaty glass slid down the bar and nudged into his arm, leaving a thin film of moisture at the crook of his elbow. He notched an eyebrow, turning towards the sound. “You know, Padfoot, it’s not too late to convince the Veil to swallow you whole again.” 

Sirius threw his head back in a singular bark of laughter. “There’s a reason it spit me back out, Prongsy. Even it agreed I aged far too finely to deprive the world of my beauty.” 

“Whatever helps you sleep at night, Pads.” With a sniff of mockery, James rapped his knuckles on the countertop and threw back the whisky.

It burned down his throat, tracing a path straight to his gut, and he relished the way it shocked his nerve endings into a delicious warmth. The feeling was the closest he’d gotten to the exhilaration of flying in years. 

He cradled the glass in his fingertips, turning it incrementally so the light bounced off the dappled etching of the grim engraved in the surface—Sirius’ idea of brilliant marketing. He cleared his throat, aiming for casual indifference that he knew he missed by a long shot. “Any plans after closing?”

Sirius dropped the rag he was polishing a glass with, eyeing James. “The same as usual, mate. Tonks dragged Remus out, so Marley will have my arse if I’m not home by three.” 

“Right.” A deep frown pulled James’ lips down, and he motioned for another drink. “Harry’s out tonight with the Parkinson girl. I suppose I’ll pack up and turn in early then.” He downed the drink Sirius offered him, enjoying the burn far less this time.

Sirius’ expression was unnervingly sober as he stared James down. “You know, it’s been long enough. I know Lily wouldn’t fault you if you moved on with some—”

“Nice witch who didn’t mind not starting a family right now. Yes, Pads, so you’ve told me a hundred times over.” James sighed. “It’s not that I don’t want to move on. I just can’t find the right witch.”

“Or the right witch has been under your nose all this time and you’ve been too much of a fool to chase after her,” Sirius accused. The frustration immediately left his tone as his shoulders slumped. “You’re my friend, Prongs, but it’s hard to watch you make yourself miserable if you don’t just ask the witch how she feels. I’ve seen the way she looks at you and—”

“I’m old enough to be her dad.” James scrubbed his hand over his face and through his hair, swallowing the urge to groan in frustration.

Sirius shrugged. “You never know until you ask.” The creaking of the door caught his attention, and he turned, a wicked smile lighting his features. “Of all the gin joints, in all the towns, in all the world, the Brightest Witch of Her Age walks into mine!” Sirius crowed, slapping his hands on the counter. “If it isn’t my lucky day!”

Freezing, James tracked the newcomer’s approach in the mirror. A mane of unruly, curly hair preceded her, a brilliant smile shining beneath it, and he had to stifle a groan. This wasn’t a gin joint, and it was his son’s best friend who had just walked through the door.

James sucked in a breath, eyeing his disheveled hair in the mirror with distaste. Before he could so much as fix the tangled mess, Granger was beside him, waving the drink Sirius proffered her away with a toothy smile. “You are aware that saying isn’t a happy greeting, right?” she teased, sliding easily into the seat next to James.

Sirius shrugged, winking back at her. “Maybe not, but I did enjoy that line in the film Harry showed us.” He waved the drink again. “Sure you don’t want something? It’s on the house.”

Grinning at him, she shook her head again. “Not tonight, Sirius. I’m not staying long.”

Pads aimed a smarmy wink at the witch. “That’s what you said last time, kitten.” 

Hermione’s laughter tinkled between them, and James had to force his fingers from grazing the dimples her smile wrought on her cheeks by signalling for another drink from Sirius.

Bugger.

Firmly reminding himself that she was very off limits, James turned in his seat. “Last time, huh? Didn’t realise you played with Pads, love.” His emphasis on the term of endearment sent a blush skittering up her cheeks that stirred more very-off-limits thoughts in the back of his mind.

“Sirius is referring to the last time I was here with Harry—celebrating his promotion in the Auror department. I’m sure you remember the night,” she accused, a friendly lilt to her tone. “You left early but had to Apparate back to help me pour Harry into the Floo?”

_ Did he remember?  _

“How could I forget? It’s not every day that you have to track down the Floo your son vomits through during high speed travel at three in the morning,” James managed easily through the thoughts racing in his mind. Of course, he’d also never forget the way she’d lingered in his hall just a little too long before slipping into the Floo with what he’d sworn was a regretful, longing last look.

Hermione’s laughter brought him back to himself. “Did you ever find it? The poor sod whose hearth he hurled onto?” 

Nodding, he leaned back, allowing his arm to rest comfortably across the back of her chair. “Missus Bitterwood. Spent the better part of an hour scrubbing until it shined and still she wouldn’t stop moaning about it until I sent her a box of Honeydukes chocolates as an apology.”

Hermione grimaced. “Bitterwood. Well, the name’s not far off. I don’t think I’ve ever had a pleasant encounter with that woman.”

“She strikes me as the sort to kick ankles and then complain about you stubbing your toe on her shin,” Sirius interrupted, eyeing the pair of them. “Sorry to interrupt this entirely stimulating conversation regarding your best friend’s vomit, but I was hoping you could help Prongs and I out with something, kitten.”

James’ protective instincts reared, and he leaned forwards, trying to warn Sirius off with a glare. “That’s not necessary, Padf—”

“There’s a crate of very important supplies in the back closet. Right behind the cleaning supplies and to the left around the shelf; you can’t miss it,” Sirius wheedled, poking his lip out. 

James leaned into the bar, gritting his teeth as a headache began to pound behind his left eye. “I’m sure you can handle it. Hermione was just leaving any—”

But the witch was already off the barstool and motioning him towards the back room. “Come on, Potter, I don’t have all night. Help me out before I head home, yeah?” She turned, hurrying into the shadowed corridor and out of sight.

Swearing to himself, Padfoot, Merlin, and everyone in between, James slid off his seat, following in her wake. “

“Don’t say I never did anything nice for you, Prongsy,” Sirius called, his laughter following James into the dark corridor. 

“Hermione?” He stepped inside the supply room, allowing the door to fall shut behind him with a dull thud. 

Low lamplight filtered in through dusty bulbs, fashioning everything into obscure shapes around him. He stepped further into the room, squinting at the far corner where Sirius had told Hermione to look for the crate, when a floorboard creaked just behind him.

“You’re a hard wizard to get alone, Mr. Potter.”

The hairs on the back of his neck stood up at the address, and he turned, gaze sweeping the shadows for the witch. “Hermione? What are you—” 

For the fourth time that night, he was interrupted. “It took a while to convince Sirius to help me.” She stood just out of reach, arms propped on her hips as her gaze swept over him. Slowly, she stalked towards him, her tongue flitting out to wet her lips. “He said you felt too guilty—that you didn’t want to betray Harry’s trust or Lily’s memory.”

The brief uncertainty that flashed in her eyes drew James’ attention, and he swallowed the knot that had wound itself into his throat. “It’s not about Lily. She’s been gone for so long… she’d want me to move on.”

“Then what is it?” Her breath fanned over him when she stopped, perilously close, in front of him. “Why have you been avoiding me?”

A shiver roiled over him at the innocence and desire shining in her expression. So close, he could nearly feel the need roiling off of her, and it took every bit of will power he had not to fist his hand in her hair. “Harry would never—”

“Forgive you? He would,” she answered, her lips pulling into a tight frown. “He’s my best friend, your only son. You think I haven’t told him?”

The words clattered around in his head as he stared down at her, his eyes tracing the delicate bow of her lips; the way her jaw curved elegantly; the long, slender line of her neck. “Told him what?” He wrenched the words free from the pit of nerves in his stomach, forcing them over his sandpaper-dry tongue.

For as much as his mind screamed that she was off limits, he couldn’t drag himself away from her.

She huffed a husky laugh and lifted a singular finger to trace over his forearm. “Harry knows that I have feelings for you—would have been blind not to notice it.” She flit her gaze back up to him, her long lashes dancing at the movement. “It was strange, at first, but haven’t you noticed all the ways he’s pushed us together?”

Without allowing him time to think, she stepped into his space, rounding him until her chest brushed against his back and her fingertips trailed up his arms. “You’re so  _ tense _ , Mr. Potter. Perhaps I can help with that?”

Immediately, her fingertips dug into the muscles of his shoulders, and he groaned, embarrassingly loudly, in the silence of the supply closet. Her fingers were magic, working out tension knots he hadn’t even realised were there, and he sank into her without thought. 

In tandem, she leaned into him, her lips brushing against the shell of his ear. “I never pegged you a patient man, Mr. Potter.” Her tongue flit out once more to punctuate the statement, and James’ resolve cracked.

In one smooth movement, he turned, scooping the witch into his arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. In the breath that followed, he pressed her to the door and crashed his lips against hers.

If the whisky had been close to the rush of flying, kissing Hermione Granger far exceeded everything he’d imagined. Even in the darkest nights of lust after seeing her disappear into the Floo from yet another night at the cottage, he’d never imagined kissing her would be so exhilarating.

It was every bit as feisty as she was, nips at his lip drawing groans from low in his belly as he chased her at a bruising pace, but she took everything he offered her and begged for more. 

When he pulled away, both their breaths heaving, he bit out, “How long?”

A wicked smile worked its way up her cheeks. “Long enough that I’ve enlisted all your friends for help after reassuring them repeatedly that this isn’t some kind of misguided fling.”

James swallowed another groan and pulled away from her. He didn’t miss the flash of disappointment in her gaze when he lowered her feet to the floor and stepped back, the evidence of his unashamed arousal obvious.

“James?”

“Strip,” he commanded, admiring the rosy blush that stained her collarbones. 

For a moment, she stood stock still, gaping at him, but slowly her fingers rose to the sundress she wore, fingers slipping the tiny buttons through the holes. “Like this?” 

He nodded, leaning heavily against the shelving to palm himself through his trousers as her skin appeared, inch by maddeningly enticing inch. “Such a good girl, Granger.”

The use of her surname sent a flash through her eyes, her fingers trembling, and he could feel the way his lips curled up in response. “You like that?” At her stuttering nod, he said, “Show me what you like.”

Tentatively, she stepped towards him, reaching for his hand and guiding it over her breasts. She sucked in a breath when he skimmed the peaks of her nipples, and she paused, eyes wide and glassy as she stared up at him.

“Like this?” he gingerly pinched the bud, and her lids fluttered closed as she took her lip between her teeth, biting down against a moan. On instinct, his other hand shot up, freeing her lip from her mouth and pushing his thumb into its depths instead. In a gravely tone he scarcely recognised as his own, he said, “Suck.”

A velvety suction around his finger, the delicate pressure of her mouth sent a torrent of curse words from his mouth and his restraint snapped.

He crashed into her, pulling her body into his, but Hermione shoved her hands between them, making quick work of his clothes as she pushed his plain black t-shirt over his head. Her fingers fumbled on the button of his trousers, but shoved them down easily enough once the fabric was free and he thanked the gods for the foresight to forego pants that morning.

And then she touched him, and if kissing her was exhilarating, then having her touch him was all-consuming. 

Her hand pumped up his length slowly, tracing the veins on its underside with a near reverent gesture. His own hands explored her, finding the apex of her thighs and tracing over the bundle of nerves there.

The action earned him a guttural moan, her body folding into his. Each movement drew a different sound from her, and he very nearly came undone at the combination of her obvious approval and her attention to his own arousal.

“Oh, gods, James,” she moaned, her voice breathy and void of the confident seductress of moments before. She writhed in his grasp, giving in to his touch, and he wanted to claim her for his own more fervently than he’d wanted anything in years.

The realisation struck him, and he pulled away, doubt clouding his lust as he stared down at her. Swallowing thickly, he looked away, stilling her grip on him. “Granger, if you don’t—if you don’t want all of this, we need to stop now.  _ Please _ .” The last word was a desperate plea, and he looked away from her, gaze shuttering.

No more than a moment had passed before her hand was on his cheek, guiding his face to hers. “I want it— _ you _ —all of you.” She grinned up at him, resuming her maddeningly gentle exploration. “Now, if you’re amenable to it.”

Relief washed over him, and he swept her into his arms again, wrapping her legs around his waist. “Thank Merlin,” he muttered.

Two strides took him to the door of the supply room once more, and he pressed Hermione against it, both of them sharing breath as he aligned himself at her entrance and gently pushed in.

She was warm, so warm he thought he might lose himself to the moment, but she moaned, arching into him. The movement increased the friction of the angle, and he dropped his forehead against her shoulder with a thud, cursing.

“James, move.  _ Gods _ , please move,” she begged.

As if the command snapped him out of the haze, he snapped his hips forward, driving her up the wall. Her guttural moans spurred him onward, nails raking down his back as he nipped at her shoulder.

It was fast and far less romantic than she deserved, but with her heels digging into his arse and encouraging whispers in his ear, James couldn’t give a fuck less.

He’d give her the flowers and romance later. Right now, both of them needed a shag.

Far more quickly than he would have liked, James felt her walls flutter as she snaked a hand between them, rubbing at the same bundle of nerves he’d driven her to the edge with earlier. Her breath grew uneven, low sighs issuing from her throat with each swipe, and finally she stilled, her orgasm cresting over her.

“Such a good girl,” he muttered, pulling back to watch the satisfaction pass over her features before he buried himself in her with his own climax, finishing with a muffled groan of her name.

Instantly, his legs felt as though they’d turned to jelly, and he chuckled when she squirmed in his hold, his weight too heavy against her. Regret already coloured his cheeks that he had to part from her so quickly, but he pulled away, muttering a wandless cleaning charm to vanish the majority of the evidence of their tryst.

In silence, he pulled his trousers on, but she beat him to the questions.

“This isn’t just a one and done thing,” she declared, suddenly in his space again without a stitch of clothing on. There hadn’t been room for a question in her statement, but her eyes shined with the desperate need for confirmation.

It was the balm he needed, and he scooped her hand into his, infusing as much cheek into his words as he could. “You couldn’t get rid of me if you tried.”

The brilliant smile on her face sent his heart racing once more, and he leaned forward to place a lingering kiss to her lips. “What do you say we get dressed and take this back to my place?” 

“I thought you’d never ask.”

* * *

Together, they left the storage closet, their fingers twisted together. 

The bar was as devoid of patrons as it was when they’d disappeared into the back room not long before. Sirius stood at the far end, wiping down a pint glass James was sure he’d already cleaned.

“Did you find that crate,” Sirius called, mirth lighting his eyes.

“Hey, Pads?” James called, sending him a crude gesture with his hand. “Thanks, mate.”

Pulling Hermione towards the door, he nearly missed Sirius’ response: “Next time, don’t forget a silencing charm!” 

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you, frumpologist, for taking the time to beta this filthly little thang! Any remaining mistakes are my own. Usage of Mr. Potter was inspired by inlovewithforever's Mr. Potter. <3


End file.
